I could literally leave this post at just that. I love my cat, she’s better than all pets on earth, no arguing.

On Christmas Day 2014, I decided that I wanted to spend the next day at shelters, just looking at cats (THIS IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA). I didn’t plan on adopting one that day (ha!).

Our first stop was a smaller shelter about 20 miles away. I had looked online at the cats they had rescued, and there was an adorable little orange kitten that I wanted to name Henry or Alfred. My sister’s attention was drawn to a little gray fluffball named Haddie.

The second I got there I bee lined for the little orange cat. He was asleep, and had 0 interest in me. I wandered over to where my sister was playing with the little gray cat. She immediately started licking my hand. I asked if we could take her out of the cage as she was basically trying to break out at that point.

We took her into a playroom and she immediately climbed on my shirt and started licking my face. She was mine.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to adopt her that day. My landlord hadn’t called back to confirm that I was permitted to have a pet in her house. I was told I could come back the next morning and adopt her then.

The shelter opened at noon the next day, and I was in the parking lot waiting at 11:45. My landlord never called. I left her six voicemails. The shelter saw my desperation as a pesky four year started inching closer to her cage. They said they would move forward as long as my landlord called by the end of the day. I packed her up that night and made the drive back to DC from Pennsylvania with my little sidekick by my side.

Until that day, I didn’t know what it meant to have something to look forward to when I got home. No matter how bad my day was, I knew that I would have my adorable little gray kitty waiting to snuggle and give kisses as soon as I got home. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure that I could love a living thing that much. Trouble sleeping? No problem, she turns herself into big spoon and puts her paws on your back to keep you relaxed.

Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for this little snuggle monster that has been, by far, the biggest blessing I’ve ever had in my life.

I don’t consider myself a trendy person, I have a FitBit and some wonderful ankle boots, but that’s about as trendy as I get. I’ve taken one yoga class and painted my nails black exactly once.

So where do I fall on the whole “experience” trend? Somewhere between jealousy of the amazing trips I cannot afford and annoyed by busy-ness of it all.

Clarify. I love traveling. I spend my life trying to make people’s travel experience’s better. That’s dedication. I want to go everywhere I possibly can without repeating anytime soon. I don’t believe in the notion of spending your entire life working so you can have a lovely retirement, and then what happens if you or your significant other aren’t around to see that? It’s morbid, but now that I’ve seen it, my decision is even more validated.

We become more interesting as people with new experiences. Our conversations are more full of life instead of things. Every day becomes a new learning experience of a place to go or something to do.

A downside does exist though. I just waited an hour for some good Filipino food at Bad Saint. Yes, it was wonderful, and flavorful, but just good (try the clams). It’s not like I felt the first time I had the s’mores ice cream at All Purpose. That, I would wait an hour for.

Where do we draw the line at experiences? When do we stop overhyping them? Do we someday switch back to just caring about things? Do we even want that so us “experiencers” can go back to experiences?

Let me preface this by I am not a single female and that I try really hard not to read those corny Facebook posts about why being a single mom is so hard or how the nanny killed a newborn by not paying attention to it (please do not waste your time reading those articles because you will wish you had lit you eyeballs on fire after).

Yet of course today I clicked on one that was about how being married is so incredibly difficult. There’s projects on the house to work on, there are disagreements, there are days of hatred between significant others. It IS hard.

My problem with the post was it shamed women that wanted to be married and have children because they are looking for it for the wrong reasons, the dress, the adorable baby, etc.

I CANNOT PHYSICALLY HANDLE THE PAIN IN MY CHEST CAUSED BY THE STUPIDITY OF PEOPLE COMMENTING ON THESE POSTS AND ENCOURAGING IT.

“Then stop reading”. But I can’t. It’s like a Kate Spade surprise sale sending you emails every six hours reminding you that everything is 75% off.

We shame people. We analyze everything thing we do and decide to write posts about.

Yes you should be married, no you should be single, you should be a stay at home mom, working mothers give their kids more value, these people are liberal snowflakes, these people are white supremacists.

We can’t take it anymore! Someone make it stop! We’re overloaded with opinions every single day, day in and day out and we cannot possible care anymore. But we’re taught that technology=power, and so we keep getting sucked in, reading bigoted comment after bigoted comment.

I am sad. Truly sad that we feed into this non stop, judgmental cluster fuck every day. And that I continue to read them.